Man In Transition

I can feel a change coming.

I think I am going to mix things up a little bit. I am absolutely certain that this is the short period of time that one experiences before they realize that big changes are on the horizon.

I am ready to...

Let go of some people.
Pick up some others.

Forgive some wrongs.
Build some bridges.

Set some goals.
Raise some standards.

Close some doors.
Get some work done.

Leave some places behind.
Set up camp in some new places.

Change, Dear Friends, Change.

I am changing.
My conditions.
My perspectives.
My habits.

It's a fucking fire-sale going on in here.
Everything is open for re-evaluation.
Nothing is sacred.

I have recently found myself articulating conditional wants that I am willing to work for. Basic needs that I didn't know that I wanted or didn't want, until know.

Occupational wants.
Domestic wants.
Physical wants.
Financial wants.
Relationship wants.
Artistic wants.
Relationship wants.

I want things to be different than they are now.
I am willing to do what it takes to get what I want.

This might look a little bit like instability to those of you on the outside.
I can assure you that it's not. It's a transition from here to there. It only looks unstable if you're not prepared to accept change in perception.

I am focused, energized and ready to do the hard work that this is going to take. With a little bit of luck and a whole lot of hard work, the end results will be personally, vocationally and artistically rewarding.

I am ready.

RADIO LAB "Martian Invasion" poster is out.

I really like this groovy poster that the theater has put out for the upcoming Radio Lab event. I think our marketing department did a pretty good job with it. It really captures the wierd-o, 1950's vibe that the show is going for.

If you listen closely, you can almost hear the theremin warbling in the bacground.



Also, buy a ticket for this show, already! $30 to see Jad and Robert do their thing. Call 773-871-3000 and reserve your ticket, TODAY!

Cheers,
COB

I HEART Colbert & Stewart.

Just saw this posted over on CIN. It's the cover for next week's "Entertainment Weekly."

Take a look.



Here's a nice side-by-side comparison, made by one of the CIN users.



I remember when the New Yorker cover was released, I thought, "Well, I dread where this dumb thing is going to turn up next." I couldn't have anticipated something like this.

Those guys are the smartest political commentators in the business. Everyone else is just playing catch-up to those two.

Love it.

COB out...

V&V: Show Me The Critical Love!

I know I promised not to post any more reviews for V&V, but this one just popped up and gave me the goosebumps, it's so good. You can read the entire review here. The reviewer had some really complimentary things to say about the whole show. With only a few drawbacks.

Or just check out this really lovely little quote about yours truly...

Interestingly enough, the show's star performer isn't even one of the "vixens." Instead, it is the announcer, played by Piccolo newcomer, Mr.B. Between acts, Mr.B keeps the audience engaged with improv skills of Second City caliber; this show is worth seeing for his doctor sketch alone.

That just made my day.

I am SO going home and sport-fucking myself tonight for that review. Because, really, I've earned it...

Yeah!

Cheers,
Mr.B


The aforementioned Doctor Sketch!

"Up In The Sky The Lovers Lay In Bed" by Gary Johnson.

On May 10, 2008, Garrison Keillor read Gary Johnson's poem, "Up in the sky the lovers lay in bed..." on his radio show, "A Prairie Home Companion". It was lovely. Such a lyrical, smart, carefully constructed poem. I loved it. And I want to share it with you here. Take your time with this poem, spend a bit with each line, before moving on to the next. It's well worth the time spent.

Up in the sky the lovers lay in bed...
by Gary Johnson

Up in the sky the lovers lay in bed
Naked, face to face and hip to thigh,
Her leg between his, his arm beneath her head,
Their hands roaming freely, up in the sky.
In the dark, Manhattan lay at their feet,
A blanket of glittering stars thrown down.
Beyond her bare shoulder, 59th Street,
And from her lovely foot the buses headed uptown.
They came to the city for romance, as people do,
And with each other they scaled the heights
And now, at rest, almost one and not quite two,
They lie almost forever in the sea of lights.
Where will they go? What happens next? I don't know.
I am that man waiting at the bus stop far below.

You can find a few other fine poems by Mr. Johnson, here.

V&V: Josh is very good to me.

Tonight, after the vaudeville show came down, I wandered into the costume shop to disrobe my undergarments. (I don't really have a dressing room and the bathrooms are frequently in use by one of the many ladies in the cast, so I do my undergarment dressing and undressing in the back of the costume shop, behind a clothes rack.)

When I entered the shop, our costume, Josh was hand sewing a patch on the inside of something that looked like a pair of jeans, but because costumers end up sewing things inside of other strange things, I just accepted what he was doing and moved past him. I noted, though, a look of annoyance on his face. Very clearly not directed at me.

"How're things, Josh?" I asked, as I passed by him, going to gather up my street clothes.

"Pick a topic." he said, deadpanned.

"Excuse me?" I asked. A little confused.

"What do you mean? How is which thing?" he looked up from his sewing.

"Oh, I don't know. Let's start our speaking generally. How are you feeling?" I picked up my clothes, grabbing socks, pants, t-shirt and underwear.

"I am feeling fine," he answered.

"How's your love life, Josh?" I asked.

"Doing well, actually. I've been with the same guy for tow years now. And honestly, I've never committed to anything for that long. So, it's going well. How is yours?"

I stepped behind my clothes rack and began laying out the things that I was going to change into.

"Well, it's not going. Actually. A bit by choice. I'm taking some time off from chasing around for someone. I'm leaving it up to random fate to find someone for me."

"How's that going?" I could hear him go back to his sewing.

"So far, so good. I feel like I've taken a lot of pressure off of myself. I went through a phase a month or two ago, where I was pretty lonely. But I feel fine, right now. Maybe it's because I get to flirt with the girls in the show, a little bit. That seems to tide me over, all right." I sat down on a chair and began slipping out of my socks and sock garters.

"Well, I don't know who I was talking to about you the other day, but I told them that if you were gay, I'd go after you in an instant!" I stopped undressing and just listened to him. And then I felt a little anxious, because sometimes it's hard to hear people say nice things about you. It's a little embarrassing.

"Josh, that's sweet of you," I went back to undressing.

"Oh sure. You're a good looking guy. And you're funny and that means that you're smart. And you're fun to talk to and to be around. And I just have a feeling that you can be very loving and good to the people you date. You're going to make some girl very happy."

And I just sat there, knocked flat by the care and appreciation that he was expressing. I couldn't see him on the other side of the clothing rack, but I could hear that it wasn't a solicitation or a come-on. There was nothing salacious or ass-kissing about it.

It was one human being, lowering their defenses enough to share a moment of honesty and appreciation. And I felt attractive and capable and valuable to someone, for a few minutes there. I trust Josh. He doesn't have time or patience for the bullshit. He calls it like he sees it. I've seen him do it time and again. And somehow, hearing sweet things about me, from him, had an authenticity that I felt like I could trust. It was one of the sweetest things that anyone has said about me in a long time.

"Josh. That's so kind of you. I want you to know that I really appreciate that." Without any irony or any jokeyness, from behind a rack of costumes, I tried to let him know how deeply that touched me.

"Well, don't let it go too much to your head. I'm taken." and he went back to his sewing and I went back to changing out of my costume. We made some more small talk and then I left after I'd changed. I patted him, appreciatively, on the knee as I passed by him, back into the other room. If he wasn't behind a table and working on a costume, I would've given him a hug. He was very good to me.

Cheers,
Mr.B

V&V: Rounding Up The Review Round-Up!

Just saw the review for the show in the Chicago Free Press. You can see it posted here.

Very strangely, though, there's a flash ad for "Ghost Town", the new Ricky Gervais rom-com, that floats in the middle of the page and obscures a big chunk of the review. I have no beef with the movie. I generally like anything that Ricky Gervais does, but I'll be damned if I could get that stupid ad to go away long enough for me to read the review of my show. So, I'm reprinting it, in it's entirety here...

“Vaudeville & Vixens”
Created by John Szostek
Showing: Piccolo Theatre, Evanston Arts Depot, 600 Main St. in Evanston, through Oct. 4
Tickets: $15-$25
Contact: (847) 424-0089; piccolotheatre.com

By Lawrence Bommer
CFP theater editor

Performing in a still-functioning Evanston train depot, this plucky troupe loves to exploit “niche” genres like commedia dell’arte, British “panto” and sketch comedy. So this celebration of the contagious wonders of American vaudeville must have seemed a challenge verging on destiny.

The mostly happy result is director John Szotek’s tribute to the wonderful days of the Orpheum circuit (which played, among countless venues, Chicago’s Adelphi music hall, later the Clark Street Theatre), with its next-to-closing favorite acts, comedy duos and burlesque numbers by chorus girls spun off from the Folies Bergeres via Minsky’s. If you’re, like me, a sucker for vaudeville, this is comic catnip.

An anthology of in-your-face vaudeville, the 90-minute romp offers an uneven mix of sassy, showbiz-savvy, song-and-dance skits, hoochie-coochie choreography that seems more labored than lascivious, and go-for-broke comic sketches. Take the rampaging “Doctor! Doctor!” masterpiece that, given the right momentum and wizard combination of slow burns, double takes and inspired mugging, can have an audience in stitches. (Get it?—“Doctor” act...) It also helps if an audience, unlike the fresh-from-a-funeral opening-night crowd, goes with the silly flow and suspends its political correctness (“Did you hear about the queer organist who played only hymns?”), along with the usual disbelief.

A cross between Nathan Lane and Dom DeLuise, emcee Mr.B sets the stage for burlesque blasts like the “Red Rose Rag,” the patriotic “Bugle Call Rag,” a jitterbugging “Ballin’ the Jack,” a lukewarm tango, a klutzy swimsuit shimmy called “Trixie’s Sodden Stripteaste” and a terrific duet performed by preggo chorines imploring “Won’t You Come Home, Bill Bailey?” The hard-hoofing finale, “Happy Feet,” is all that, while David Kelch’s turn as the Amazing Mysterioso makes marvelous magic as Foxie (Leeann Zahrt) is palpably split into three parts before our eyes. It’s even amusing to watch the Outhouse (barbership) Quartet fall apart as assorted temptresses get three crooners to “meet me round the corner in a half an hour.” (Yes, the sexism is preserved for what it’s no longer worth.)

But the hardcore humor here is an extended vaudeville classic like the scatological “Court of Last Resort,” with a superbly comic Ken Raabe channelling Lou Costello as a randy judge and Mr.B as an anything-for-a-laff lawyer who does his own rim shots.

Maybe everything old is not always new again. But enough good-hearted devotion to a grand old entertainment goes into this retroactive retrieval—not to mention hilarious props and costumes—to excuse occasional dead spots and misfires. These folks will bump and grind their way into our hearts or go bust. If the audience auditions for an oil painting, well, that’s what killed vaudeville in the first place. By the time you read this, the Piccoloni zanies should be on a proverbial roll.

Wow. Great review, yes?

I'll take it. I even dig the reference to Nathan Lane and Dom DeLuise. I'll take that too, thankyouverymuch.

And I got some nice mentions in there, too. Which is always a nice touch. I like Bommers appreciation for the sketches. That seems to be his preference and I agree with him. (Some reviews focused on the dances. Some focused on the girls. This one happened to focus on my area of expertise - the funny bits.) So that was nice.

Totally makes up for the Readers morbid pan of the show. Which you can check out here. We knew we were going to be panned by the Reader. They were the last rag to contact us and request seats for their reviewer. When John, the director, mentioned that they were coming to review the show, I told him, "Ugh. They're going to kill us."

I generally feel that the Reader is harder on suburban shows than they are on Chicago shows. I feel like their predjudice preserves the concept that "anything of real value is performed in the city proper" and the rest of the city are nothing but a bunch of community theaters of differing value. I don't have data to back that up. It's just me feeling, take it for what it's worth. (And maybe note that they DID pan us, as I predicted that they would.)

I understand we'll see one or two more reviews popping up and then you and I will be done with this particular round of navel-gazing. Being reviewed is such a strange experience for me. While I've thoroughly wallowed in it, this time around, I suspect I'll be a little more jaded, next time. For the next show, whatever that may be, I'll probably limit the review-reviewing to a single post entry. And not a week's worth.

In any case, if you've made it THIS far, you probably know more about the show than I do and have absolutely no excuse for not coming up to see it. If you DO want to pick up tickets, aim for a Friday night, Saturdays and Sundays are pretty much SOLD OUT for the rest of the run. Which is a good problem to have.

Cheers,
Mr.B
Your Master of Ceremonies,



RATHER THAN ROUND UP REVIEWS ON MY OWN, ALLOW ME TO DIRECT YOU TO THE FINE FOLKS AT THEATERINCHICAGO.COM, WHO ARE KIND ENOUGH TO ROUND UP ALL REVIEWS ABOUT A SHOW, ON THEIR OWN.

V&V: Finally gets a Critical Recommendation!

The third review for the show just got posted over on the Evanston Review website. You can check it out here. And it's pretty dead-on to the show.

The reviewer, Tom Loerzel, notes that the show "more like a nostalgic throwback than a contemporary attempt to push the envelope". And he's bang on. We want to do actual vaudeville. We don't want to do a show that comments on vaudeville. That seems like one more step away from what we want to do. I can't tell you how many times I heard someone say, "That's how they used to do it, in the old days" and that was used as a guide for how we staged something. Hell, the scripts came straight out of a scriptbook that preserved the text from the 1900's. That's what we aimed for.

Mr. Loerzel gets it. It's meant as a sweet, fun, funny, high-energy, romp, lovingly delivered to modern audiences from a by-gone era. If you buy a ticket for the show, you're enjoying a valentine that the directors, actors and crew have prepared for you. THAT'S what the show is about.

He also nails this particular aspect of the show...

Even if the jokes always don't work, when they come at you in rapid-fire bursts, it's hard not to laugh.

Modesty doesn't prevent me from posting the little bit of individual attention that Mr. Loerzel shines on me. It's nice to be singled out a little bit for one's work on a show.

Mr.B also has his share of hilarious lines, and he holds the whole show together as master of ceremonies, getting the audience into the show's zany spirit.

Also, one of my improvised bits are referenced in the review. The whole "Yowza, Yowza" and "Hubba, Hubba" business. So that's nice.

Hmm, that review makes it sound like a pretty good show, doesn't it?



FOR THOSE PLAYING ALONG AT HOME, HERE'S THE REVIEW WRAPUP FOR THE SHOW:
Evanston Review - Recommended!
www.chicagocritics.com - Somewhat Recommended
www,centerstagechicago.com - Somewhat Recommended.
I'LL UPDATE THIS LIST, AS MORE REVIEWS COME IN!
(Good or bad!)

V&V: Second Review, Also "Somewhat Recommended".

Tracking reviews of ones show is such a surreal experience. Improv is, all too often, un-reviewed. So, it's a new experience for me to read these written reactions of the show that we're working on. Preserved online. So strange. What an odd experience.

Anyways, the second review is from Centerstage Chicago. You can read it here.

And this, I think, is a more accurate view of the show. Less burdened by the years of experience that Tom Williams struggled with. This reviewer, Anna Pulley, was a little more open to the experience. And it sounds like she had more fun than Tom did.

I won't bother to overly analyze Anna's review. She did a fine job of re-counting the evening that she experienced. She felt empowered by the stripteases, which is nice. And she thought that the other numbers were fun and a very silly. And that's all we really ask of the audience. One could certainly populate a marketing poster for the show with a variety of complimentary adjectives from her review.

"congenial nuttiness"

"plenty of bawdy humor"

"Vaudeville and Vixens" is a blast from the past"

and

"true to the stylings of Buster Keaton and Abbott and Costello"

Anna's chief complaint with the show? No modern reflections on the human condition. No modern reflection on the artform of burlesque, either. And you know what? She's absolutely right. It's a tribute piece, taken directly from text that is over 100 years old. There was no effort then to be more than what it was, a series of rib-tickling knee-slappers that flew at you so fast, that you don't have time to think, much less catch the stinkers. So, I'll give her that one as a freebie. It's not a post-modern piece. It's most definitely a retro piece.

One thing that Anna didn't catch, and I don't fault her for this, there's no way that she could possibly know this. 80% of what I am saying as the Master of Ceremonies, out there is improvised, on-the-spot. Sure, I have a loose structure, in that I usually know what the next number is and I eventually have to introduce it, but the rest of the time that I'm out there, I'm on my own, entirely. Some jokes killed in past shows and they're still around. But the interactions with the audience are real. The bits and jokes and asides are whatever I've just thought of or something that occurred to me in the shower, that morning. The bits that she references, teaching catcalls to the audience, was improvised on the spot, the night before and was polished up for her show. (The cast loved how responsive it got the audience. So we kept it.) And if to Anna's trained eye, they look like written interstitials that we planned out, wrote, polished and memorized, then I did my job.

Even if she couldn't possibly know that.

Or maybe she'll come back and see the show again and notice the additions, changes and freshness of the produce that I'm sellin' up there. That would be pretty cool.

So, we're "Somewhat Recommended" by another online critic. Although, to be fair, this one had much less of a stinkeye to give us.

Cheers,
The Master of Ceremonies...



FOR THOSE PLAYING ALONG AT HOME, HERE'S THE REVIEW WRAPUP FOR THE SHOW:
www.chicagocritics.com - Somewhat Recommended
www,centerstagechicago.com - Somewhat Recommended.
I'LL UPDATE THIS LIST, AS MORE REVIEWS COME IN!
(Good or bad!)

Vaudeville & Vixens: Somewhat Recommended!

Hm, there's a slightly deflating review of "Vaudeville & Vixens" posted up at Chicagocritic.com by Tom Williams. Mr.Williams calls me, alternatively, "annoying" and "not up to the task". Yeesh!

Mr. Williams elaborated that he's seen multiple vaudeville shows before and is well familiar with the material. So much so, that he's comparing us to the likes of "Jackie Gleason, Fanny Brice, Leon Errol, Bert Lahr, W.C. Fields, Red Skelton, Abbott & Costello, Phil Silvers and Bob Hope". Mr. Williams gives no allowances for the fact that A.) those are masters of the artforms, having dedicated their lives to the practice B.) they also had years to develop the skits and sketches that eventually made their way to tv (we had a 5 weeks) and C.) NOBODY IN THE SHOW IS CLAIMING TO BE FUCKING JACKIE GLEASON, RED SKELTON OR FUCKING ABBOT & COSTELLO.

But ah well, Mr. Williams was summarily unable to relax and enjoy himself out for a night at the theater. Quick changes, sharp dancing, actual audience interraction, period appropriate costuming and lightning quick timing were lost on him. I suspect that if he were to actually see Jackie Gleason or Phil Silvers or Bob Hope perform, he'd criticize the carpeting or the hang of the curtains. He is, we can gather, just too jaded, suffering from an overload of vaudeville and burlesque experience, to forgive this poor little theater troupe for not being up to the level of the masters.

Well, luckily for us, the two different audiences that we delighted and amused, around Mr.Williams did not suffer the same insurmountable expectations.

You can read Mr.Williams review, which begins inauspiciously by mispelling "vaudeville", by clicking this link. Or better than that, you can click on this link to the wikipedia entry on vaudeville, which spares us the unkind, direct comparison to the masters of vaudeville.

One more thought, reviews are really only useful for getting the word out about your show or for the selective use of quotes on marketing materials. If I were producing this show and Mr. Williams review was my only review, here are the blurbs that I would pull from it.

"Filled with variety acts including cornball comedy bits including slapstick, wordplay and general clowning together with flirty ‘tease’ dances by the girls!"

"Careful attention was made to mount a pure, 40’s style vaudeville/burlesque show!"

"If you have never seen a pure vaudeville/burlesque show, Piccolo’s “Vaudeville and Vixeens” comes close. Be warned, this is raw sexy humor."

Now, THAT sounds like the kind of show that I would want to see!



FOR THOSE PLAYING ALONG AT HOME, HERE'S THE REVIEW WRAPUP FOR THE SHOW:
www.chicagocritics.com - Somewhat Recommended
I'LL UPDATE THIS LIST, AS MORE REVIEWS COME IN!
(Good or bad!)

Vaudeville & Vixens: Show Pics Are Online!

Holy Cow!

Photos from the final dress rehearsal are online now as part of the press packet. Both color and Black & White shots. All credit for them must go to the excellent Robert Potter III. You can view these pics and more by clicking here.

I have to tell you, I am so proud of some of these shots, most particularly the first one here, that I could burst. I love looking retro. I love looking good, looking retro. Let's just hope that the reviews feel the same way...

Look at these crackerjack pictures...


Introing a number. Giving it the big build-up!


Beginning of Curtain Call!


Bending Over Backwards To Please a Bully.


The Court Of Last Retort!


El Tengo Del Amour!


Miss Moxie, Femme Fatale!

Wow!

Click on the link to see our cowgirl, Miss Dixie and our very own Candy Butcher!

Deeeeeeeee - lightful!

Cheers,
Mr.B

Vaudeville & Vixens: Some Photos For You...

Took some pictures at V&V tonight. They look like this.


The cast hangs out before dress call.


Mom Forgot to take her out her curlers.


Making Up.


Lots and lots of hairspray.


Comedy Underpants And The Careful Application of Ladies Stocking Garters.


Pinky at the costume rack.


Miss Kitty is as-of-yet Not Quite Dressed.


Miss Epoxy takes pictures for herself.


Is there anything lovlier than when a lady brushes out her hair?


Miss Kitty all dressed up to be one of the Lucky Girls!


Our Master of Ceremonies...


A Better View of The Tux. That's Ken Raabe, my partner in crime, on the left. The legs on the right, belong to Miss Moxie. Yowza Yowza Yowza!


Pinky and Louie!


The Director of the Show, climbing dangerously high on a ladder in the costume shop.


Watch the hands, Mister.


Stretching out before dance call.


Practicing the tango.


I put the Vaudeville in the Vixens!

If you want to buy a ticket to see these people dancing, stripteasing and doing funny bits, you should click on this link.

Cheers,
Louie Whims, Master of Ceremonies.

Taking Pictures In The Urinal.

Tonight, after V&V, some of the cast and I went to the Golden Nugget on Lawrence for a late dinner and a nice hang-out together. At one point, we talked about Jackass videos until we had the girls drying with laughter. Oh sure, none of them had ever seen the video, but start describing them to them and some girls laughed so hard that their legs cramped up.

Why, here's one of those clips now. The Bungee Jump from Jackass 2.



LeeAnn, not pictured above, particularly liked that one.

Before dinner, I went to the bathroom for a quick pee and a washing of one's hands and whilst looking down at the urinal, I saw a familiar friend.



No. Not my penis.
That's not my penis, btw. My thumb is standing in for my penis.
What kind of a person do you think I am, that I would take pictures of my own penis in the Golden Nugget bathroom?
God. Some people.

No. You have to look closer to see which friend I am referring to.



Don Hall, if you go to the men's room in the Golden Nugget, on Lawrence Ave, you can piss on your own name. I did.

Me? I have to photoshop my own name into a men's room urinal.



Some guys have all the luck.

Cheers,
Mr.B

Vaudeville & Vixens is open for business.

Last night, at the theater's gala, we opened Vaudeville & Vixens for a sold out house and it looks like it's a rousing success! The audience howled and laughed through the whole thing. We did a bit, at the beginning, where I taught the audience to yell "Whoopee!" and "Yee haw" at the girls, if they liked the striptease and they ate that up! The audience yelled "Whoopee" at every sexy girl that they saw, which made the show that much better. Incredible enough, the audience bought EVERY box of candy that our candy butcher had to sell and we made an additional $50 off the audience, which was hilarious. (I didn't think that would happen.)

Backstage, we managed to get almost every prop onstage, the only one that didn't make it was one that actually fell off a table and broke, so that was okay. I got the only injury of the night, when I rolled incorrectly off a chair and got a nice raspberry on my right knee for my efforts.

Afterwards, the audience stuck around and met the actors and raffled off auction prizes. As a reward for helping with cleanup from the Gala, the actors were fed pizza and we bought a TON of booze, and some of us stuck around at the theater, dancing the night away, until 4am.

I talked to the Artistic Director, John, about this show and he says that it's a big step forward for the company. They've never done anything like this before. There's talk of a remount for next year (which will be easier for everyone, now that they know what it's like to do the show). We're also in vague discussions about doing The Marx Brothers play "The Coconuts" as part of their regular season. I'm levying to get the part of Groucho Marx. That would be an AMAZING experience.

But first, we've got three more weeks of this sexy, delightful, playful show to run, before we decide anything about NEXT season. Currently, they've sold 40% of the available seats for the rest of the run, BEFORE THE SHOW EVEN OPENED!

Oh, and we've got seven different reviewers coming to see the show tonight, which is a little bit daunting. All in all, I think that they'll really like the show. (I'm personally a little bit nervous, because this is the first show that's been reviewed, where I'm very much front and center of the show. So, a stink-ass show can certainly be blamed on me. If we all got rest and plenty of water today and show up, not hung-over, then we might just get some crackerjack reviews. That's my plan, anyways.) Additionally, there's a nice little article about the show up here at Evanston Now. Check it out!

Cheers,
Mr.B


Leeann Zahrt and I in "The Doctor Sketch!"

Water Monster Appears In Tokyo Bay!

No, it's not Godzilla, you fools.

It's a public art display that features a holographic "sea monster" that's projected on a fine sheen of water mist. This video shows what it actually looks like.



Holographic water monsters in Tokyo?
Giant Spiders in Liverpool?
Flying Robot Jellyfish?

When did we all wake up in a fucking Harry Potter movie?

I kid. I kid.

I think this shit is cool as Hell, actually. If something like this were happening in Chicago, I'd be one of the first people lined up to see it.

Cheers,
Mr.B

Watch Out For The Flying Robot Jellyfish!

I don't have a lot to say about this, except...

A.) I want to see a flotilla of these things flying around the Chicago Beach. (WITHOUT FUCKING ADVERTISING ATTACHED TO THEM, GODDAMMIT!)

and

B.) I also want a seat installed under it and I want to ride around underneath the giant robot jellyfish.

Anyways, here's the video...



Cool, huh?

Cheers,
Mr.B

A Cure For The Post RNC Convention Blues...

Feeling a little bit of the old Democratic Anxiety Attacks after The Maverick and The Milf got their meager bump after the RNC?

Are you jumping at every shadow, seeing the lurking figures of hidden, vote-proactive, conservative rednecks, behind every corner?

Feeling a nervous panic in the pit of your stomach that you haven't felt since 2004?

Well, here comes The Man, to set you right and ease your fears, Little Mama.



Yes, you can use that for your desktop at work.

Cheers,
Mr.B

PS. Credit to lumberjackadal at CIN for posting that pic today. I love it.

Bill Lumbergh Calling...

I just spoke with this guy on the phone.



I resisted the urge to tell him that I got the memo about the cover sheets for the TPS reports.

I love my job.

Cheers,
Mr.B

Creature Comforts: On The Nature Of Art.

You know about Creature Comforts, right?

The show takes audio interviews of people talking about a topic (ie, life, love, the holidays, family, etc.) and then animates the brilliant Aardman claymation figures of animals reciting the dialogue.

I just saw this clip online and it made me laugh out loud. I thought I would pass it along.



Be forewarned: The word "penis" is used in this clip.

Cheers,
Mr.B

I'm Big In Germany.

A few months ago, some stranger that I've never met before, followed some obscure Google chain and found my other blog, "Mr.B In Chicago". That's a tangential blog where I posted some emails that I sent out to people, when I first moved to Chicago in 2000. I don't really look at it now that the blog is finished. And so, I didn't know that "Oswald" posted a comment on my blog in March of this year. (You can see his nice comment in the first entry.)

Oswald is a male, fussball-playing, soccer-loving mechanic who digs the Rolling Stones, the Who and The Beatles.

In Germany.

Although his English is pretty good in the comment, his own blog, which he linked to, is entirely in German.

I can't speak or read a lick of German.

So, I have no idea what this kid is saying over there. I suspect that it's like any other blog, Vain self-exploration, curtailing charm and striving for eloquence, but usually falling flat on hammy sentiment. Just like this blog.

Only in German.

Luckily for me, we live in an age of miracles and I could use the Google Babelfish program to translate his German blog into English, for easy reading. The first article was a history of identification papers. The second article was a history of the Gingko tree and its slow march across Europe. The third entry, though, was a gem. Click on it to see the Babelfish translated page.

Or you can enjoy this re-copy of the text of the article, below. Check it out. I've added some follow-up thoughts below the blog post.

Recently in the swimming pool. I lie on a cover, blinzle into the sun. Listen to that Vogelgezwit. The Gesäusel of the sheets over me oak sheets. I think, what for an old beautiful oak! Calibrates? Sky, the oak procession cranks! If those you now get! The corroded your skin! Prepare for you legs itching for months!

Beside me my newspaper-reading wife lies. Notion lot under the oak. Should I warn it? I rather hold the mouth and show for the oak the back. Blades of grass kitzeln me in the nose. Wasps hum. I saw times a disaster film with murderer wasps. But do not look here in such a way, or…? No matter, years ago rammed me times its prick into the toe and my child foot blew myself on to the red Lampion. The world had not seen such a lump yet. All laughed, I howled. Because that was the total failure. Three days acetic acid envelopes! Limping and lamenting. Thus barefoot do not only run here!

Now am I mean head deeper into the piece of grass. I can recommend to everyone, which wants to graulen itself times correctly. Because there you are in the middle in a jungle of the fright. There crawling monsters, live sword tooth beetles, poison-spraying ants. Spiders eat eingespeichelte mummies. Vampire suck the blood of their victims. Here Darwins cruel law prevails. Everyone eats everyone, in order to be gekillt. Here lie in wait also the biting machines, which one calls Zecken. Borreliose transfer the small devil. And Meningitis. The hospitals are full from Zeckenopfern! I examine inconspicuously my and the freely lying parts of the body beside me. Discover two ants and a Pünktchen. The schnippe I back to green hell. Was a Zecke? Oh ever!

The sun kindles a fire on my forehead. Whether we are also well enough eingecremt? One can afford nowadays no more sun fire! The skin forgets nothing. And who wants already folds, marks, skin cancer. I reach into the cream pot and cream after. Now, since my view takes a bush in its sights, it falls me like sheds of the eyes: Riesenbärenklau! One of these horror plants, which cause Quaddeln, if one comes them only into the proximity. With stump and handle exterminated belongs. Infuriates plan I to strike afterwards with the lifeguard alarm!

The woman beside me rapid ELT with the newspaper. It reads an article over summer flu. Beyond the fence drying heaps smell. Hay! At just as a collecting point of heap of hay I got myself times a connection skin inflammation, a magnificent hay allergy! That was a theatre! Optician! Blindly in holidays! While I feel now a certain eye dryness, it occurs to me that I get from the chlorine water eyes always kirschrote. But without chlorine is not because of the bacteria and other disgust things. Public swimming pools like those here are the maddest mushroom factories.

One must, thinks I, in the autumn for being glad, if one survived the summer. There my wife calls: Isn't that a wonderful Plätzchen? The oak, smelling hay, the beautiful meadow! Here one can leave and of nothing bad think the soul so correctly baumeln! Here we should come in the vacation more frequently times!

Wow.

What an entry, right?

Something about his wife and his fear of diseases and bugs. Then some crazy stuff about a cream and some lady on the train and then a whimsical observation to tie the whole neurotic spiel up neatly. It's like an entry from "This German Life".

Obviously, the Babelfish isn't an exact translation. I don't really think that Oswald meant to say,

"No matter, years ago rammed me times its prick into the toe and my child foot blew myself on to the red Lampion."

or

"The sun kindles a fire on my forehead. Whether we are also well enough eingecremt? One can afford nowadays no more sun fire!"

or

"Public swimming pools like those here are the maddest mushroom factories."

Honestly, I don't think I know EXACTLY what he was trying to say in that stuff. I bet, with a little bit of time or interest, I could polish up that text and make it sound like clean, proper English, but then it loses some of it's crazy "sun fire" and "mushroom factory" insanity, which I actually quite like. I have a desire to perform Oswald's post, in the original, translated English, at some sort of public venue. What a challenge! To bring a narrative throughline to this hodge-podge of English! Who has a show that will feature me reading Oswald's German-To-English poetry?!?

I like Oswald. I'll never meet the guy. And it's unlikely that he'll ever see this blog entry. But I like that his blog really does sound like any other blog. I like the universality of the bloggers form. It's self-referential, it's a little self-indulgent and it documents the authors neurosis in a very unfiltered way.

Only In German.

I'm going to close this entry off, using some of Oswald's eloquent words. I'll let him have the final word. Here goes...

"All laughed, I howled."
Oswald, the German mechanic
Sept. 5, 2008

Liverpool Has A Big Spider Problem.

You might remember in May of 2007, when I posted video clip of "The Sultan's Elephant" public art exhibition in London, that year. The group is Royal De Luxe and they did some incredible shit with a giant puppet of an elephant and a giant puppet of a little girl and a rocket ship...

Here, just look at my blog entry about it and watch the fucking videos. They're almost unbelievable, altogether!

Well, they're back.

And they've brought a giant spider with them. Fifty Feet Wide.

Her name is La Princesse. You can learn about her here.

The best part of the exhibit is how it was handled. Without warning, La Princesse was installed during the night on a derelict London highrise. London citizens woke up Monday to find that there was a 50 foot spider hanging upside down on a building. And that's where she stayed up until Friday, when the puppeteers rapelled down to her, strapped in and began to "wake her up". She unfolded her legs, climbed down the side of the building to a crowd of people and walked around them, spraying them playfully with water. She proceeded to walk, through London, to the Cunard Building, where citizens were invited to come see her and watch her walk around a bit. (See the video below.)

And for the next three days, this past weekend, she free roamed around Liverpool, at 2 miles an hour, visiting the important sites in town and causing quite a stir, wherever she went.

Check out a video to see her in motion...



And here's a REALLY groovy video of her waking up and walking around. (Nice song pic with this video, btw.)



I have to say that I am REALLY impressed by this whole project. Not JUST her design and function, which are singularly impressive by their own right, but the secretive nature of her unveiling and then the way that she was free to roam around, giving unsuspecting Liverpoolians a surprise encounter appeals enormously to my playful side.
Jim Henson may be gone. But there's a company that's carrying on his work, even if they don't specifically intend to do that.

Surely you have to concede that there is something magical about a world where fifty foot spiders free roam around your town, all in the name of art...

Cheers all,
Mr.B

Behold! Doctor Octopus!

So, you might remember from this post, that Kyle, artist extraordinare, has used me as the model for Doctor Octopus for the series of artists cards that he's doing for MARVEL.

Well, he scanned and forwarded the pic onto me for my very first view. I am ready to unveil it here on the blog!

Ladies and Gentlemen, I give you, the tentacled terror, himself, The Terrible Doctor Octopus!



Snotty, diabolical look? Check!
Ever-present sunglasses? Check!
Tentacles Hinted At? Check!
Moe haircut? Check! And how!

(I know, how cool is that? Some pudgy comics card collector in Ass-crack, MI is going to open up his MARVEL collectors card pack and draw out MY picture, as Doc Ock and think, "Is this Moe Howard? Did I get a Moe Howard card in here?)

The thing that I like about is that it looks like me AND it looks like Doc Oc. So, mission accomplished. That Kyle is one talented mother-fucker!

Cheers all,
Mr.B

//A Chance Encounter Pt. 2

THIS IS PART 2 OF A FICTION PIECE THAT I STARTED HERE.
IT PROBABLY MAKES A LITTLE MORE SENSE IF YOU READ THE FIRST PART, BEFORE READING THIS.
CHEERS,
MR.B

Business in the bar has picked up. A couple gets dinner at the front window table. They don't speak as they pick at their food. It's clear that they've recently had a fight and niether of them is dealing with it. This is just a cease fire, to get food, between battles. The guy looks out the window for something else. She looks down at her plate, slowly rearranging her salad, without any satisfaction.

I am leaning at the bar, waiting for the bartender. I hear her come up from the basement stairs, behind the bar. I hear the sounds of bottles being stocked behind the bar. I am aware that she's done and is standing with me, watching the couple eat their dinner.

"They won't last for very much longer," I say.

"No. They won't," she says. "I've watched that entire courtship play out over the last... oh... let's see, year or so, now. A little over a year ago. They came into the bar here for their second or third date. I could just tell how happy they were. He played her a Van Morrison song on the jukebox and the slow-danced together, up there by their table. I think they kissed at the end. Might've even been the first kiss."

"That's sad," I say.

"Yeah, it is, I guess. You really want things to work out well in the end. You want people to meet, fall in love, make it work and stay together forever, but it just doesn't happen like that, does it?" She leans on the bar and lets her hands rest in front of me.

"Where's the ring?" I ask. I tap the finger on her right hand and she draws it back like I've stung her. "The indentation. I can see it. Where the ring used to be. A little too tight. It's gone now. Just thought I'd ask."

She looks at me for a bit, trying to read my intentions on my face, and I look back at her, letting her take her time. I hide absolutely nothing from her. She rubs her finger for a bit and I see her visibly relax.

"Gone. I couldn't have it around anymore. So I threw it into a cornfield."

"Really. How does one go about tossing their wedding ring into a cornfield?"

"I was picking my girls up from my mothers place. She was packing them up and I was outside the house, looking out at her cornfield. I grew up in that house. I used to play in that cornfield. I used to think it was so big, that it went on forever. And I wanted to lose that ring in a place I couldn't ever find it again. So, I climbed up into the bed of my truck and I threw it in there, as hard as I could."

"Sounds pretty permanent." I say.

"Yeah, it's gone. And so's he. And that's just the way that it is." she looks down at the ground, hard emotions on the edge of her face. Always the professional, though, she fights it back and regains control.

"So maybe what you were saying about that couple, wasn't just about them, at all. Maybe it was more about you. And what you want." I look at her and she looks back at me. And we are connected, defenses lowered on both sides.

"Maybe it was about all of us. What we all wish for."

"Amen to that," I say. I stand up and step back from the bar. "I'm hungry now. Know any good joints around here where a big man can get a big salad?"
\
"A salad? Seriously? You don't want something bigger from our kitchen?"

"Nope. I want a salad. And I want to buy you dinner. And judging from your figure, you don't eat meat. Am I right?"

"Here we go. Look friend, I'm not interested. I'm just the bartender, here, okay?" she's decided that I'm coming onto her and she's ready to shut me down.

"Look, you gotta eat, don't you? And you've been here as long as I have been and neither of us have had a bite to eat. Let me buy you dinner, just this once, and in return, we can eat at the bar and have a nice conversation, like civilized people. Later, after we've eaten and I've had a nice visit with my old friend, I'll settle the tab and walk out the door and everything will be as it was before. Except, you'll have eaten a nice meal, for your troubles. You gotta eat."

Through this whole speech, she's watching me carefully, with renewed defenses. I can see her processing through it all. Old, well-informed instincts telling her that I want something that I haven't named yet. That the dinner is just the prelude. That something else will come after it. But then she looks at my suit and I'm no local. Hair cut short. Beard flecked with grey and neatly trimmed. And I'm stone cold sober on the four glasses of ice water that she's poured for me. All evidence indicates to her that I'm likely not a threat.

"I'll make you a bet," I say, "If I win, I buy us both dinner. If you win, I don't know, I'll settle up, pay a big tip and walk out the door. End of the evening. Or whatever you want. Sound good?"

"What's the bet?" she asks. Her eyes are smart and she's looking for the angle.

"If I guess your full name, I buy us dinner. If I'm wrong, you win. Whatever you want."

"Are you a cop or something?"

"No. Why? Did you do something illegal?"

"No. I just can't figure you out."

"I'm a mystery. It's for sure. Want to take the bet?" and when she looks around the bar to see if anyone is listening, I know that I have her.

"Okay. What's my name?" she looks at me, excited.

"Write down the order first. Where am I going? I don't know this town." I slide a napkin to her and a pen from inside my coat.

"Are you serious?" But she writes down the name of a vietnamese restaurant and her order, hastily, and she slides the napkin back at me. "Here. So what's my name?"

"Allison Graham." And I take the napkin off the table, sliding it into my pocket.

"No fair!" she says, "That was my maiden name!"

"And it's your name again, isn't it?" I walk over to my booth and take a quick drink of water. "Hold my booth for me, while I'm gone, won't you? I'll be right back."

"Who are you? How did you know my name?" she follows me down the bar, incredulous. Not scared. Not angry. Curious. Interested. Amazed.

"Answers will be served over dinner. Be right back." and I step out into the cool, summer night and walk to the Vietnamese restaurant, next door. Without looking, I know that she watches me walk out of sight.

The Piccolo Theater Vaudeville & Vixens Gala

Hey guys,

Nat's comment on the post below reminded me that people might actually want to come see this show and/or attend the Gala. Which should be A LOT of fun. (In addition to the show, guests will enjoy a cocktail reception after the show and I believe that there's either a raffle or a silent auction, of some kind. I know, because VG donated two subscriptions to the event.)

So, yes, if you're interested in attending the show and/or the Gala, you can find details here. It would be lovely to have some friends there!

The Gala is Friday, Sept. 13th.
The show, itself, runs from Sept. 14th through Oct.4th. (Fri & Sat. @ 8pm and Sun. @ 7pm).
Tickets are normally $25, but students get in for $15. And hey, aren't we all students of one kind or another? I'll check with the admin folks to see if there are industry nights planned.
You may want to consider getting your tickets soonish, as it's a small theater and apparently the Evanstonians eat this shit up. Shows frequently sell out for the Piccolinis.

While you're at the Piccolo site, check out the press release for the show. It gives you a really nice overview of the tone of the show. The little "white box" theater has been transformed into a lush, cabaret style performance space. The red velvet curtains are beautiful and there's a single row of cabaret tables in the front row, which add a nice ambiance. The rest of the seats are set at a raked angle, which gives nice visibility to the stage. The dances alternate from sexy to silly. There are five sketch's alternating through the program and they're all deeply steeped in the borscht-belt humor. I think that there's even a little bit of magic. And the whole program moves with breakneck speed, with the operational theory that if one joke falls flat, there's another coming right behind it that might land. I am hoping that an audience enjoys it. It's a lot of fun to produce and perform. My fingerprints are all over this thing, from start to finish.

So, yeah, there's the details. Let me know if you're planning on coming. I'd love to see you guys there!

Cheers,
Mr.B

Q: How do you get to Carnegie Hall?

A: Practice, Practice, Practice!

That little joke goes out to the three classically trained musicians who regularly read my blog.

You know who you are.

Even if you don't know who the other two are.

The point is I know who all of you are.

Moving along then...

Practice, in the form of rehearsals, seems to eat up my days and nights, lately. The vaudeville show enters tech next week. No surprise there. It was on the schedule. But I can look forward to long nights spent in a tuxedo, in a warm theater, sweating rivulets down my forehead, while trained comedian-types discuss the funniest possible way to stick a grown man in the butt with a hypodermic needle the size of an upright vacuum cleaner. (The funniest way? It's a giant hypodermic needle. Any way is the funniest way.) Last night was the first stumble-through of the show. The first time that we put the whole thing together. Running time? 4 hours. But that was with multiple long, stops to discuss something or try a costume on or locate a missing performer. And some bits had to be repeated. Our target time, which I think we can hit, is an hour and ten minutes. Very doable.

The process has been a wonderfully collaborative one. I've taken suggestions from other actors, the director, the stage-manager and the choreographer. (There is no writer to work with, since the skits are almost a hundred years old.) I've even brought my own bits to the table and seen my ideas incorporated into the final product in a very funny way. I also re-wrote one of the sketches, which got broken up and turned into two sketches and it's a delight to hear talented, trained actors and actresses eloquently nail my punchlines. I could get used to that.

It's also a VERY physical show. In rehearsals, I basically run around on the stage in a crazed, over-sexualized panic for three hours straight. People have commented that it looks like I've lost weight. Which is nice. I also got a pleasant surprise tonight, when I put on a jacket from last fall that was pretty tight on me then, to find it a little loose on me now. There's reason enough to finally get those gym memberships for me and Kyle. So there are additional perks to performing the show.

Also, there's a girl ... who .... well, there's no story to tell just yet. Let's just say that there's a girl. And I've noticed her noticing me and we're both noticing each other. I look forward to doing this show with her and getting to be friends with her. Maybe something else will come from that. Too early to tell, at this point.

Oh, and she's a full two inches taller than me. So THAT'S interesting.

In addition to the three weekly Vaudeville rehearsals, there's also Fugue rehearsals on Saturday mornings. We've had two of them now. Both at Gill Park. Full cast, both times. With Don there for both rehearsals.

It's different.

That's my initial reaction to doing this show. It's different. A different cast. (Well, except for me and Tony. And Don.) The form is going to roughly be the same, but Don's planning some silent scenes, underscored by music and some other sections that won't have any music at all. He's also broken it up into three sections. A beginning. A middle. And an end. Likely this is a reaction to the show's longer running time.

It's a different cast of performers, this time around. With the addition of Jamie and Harz (two talented improvisers that I've worked with before) and Regan (a guy that I knew, but have never seen him improvise before), everyone else is a total stranger to me. I knew Heather from TM shows, the last time around, but I've never actually hung out with her or played with her before. And all of the other girls are totally new to me.

Rehearsals are an unsettling mix of the familiar and the new, mixed oddly together. We do the warm up where you take ten minutes to get up off from the floor and I think, "Hm, this feels familiar". And then one of the girls in the cast says, without a trace of irony, "Oh Martha Stewart is my biggest hero" and I think, "Well, that's different." And then we do scenes under music and I think, "Well, this is familiar" and then two girls do a scene with NO emotional stake, about nothing, with nothing to do but interact with an environment that I CAN'T FUCKING SEE and I think, "Well, that's different." So, I waver back and forth, in rehearsal, between feeling like an old sea salt and a clueless tourist.

If I were to be totally honest, I would say, "I miss the original cast." I think we were all on the same level, with regards to our investment into investigating the form. And because none of us had ever done it before, we were all asking, "Can we do this?" together. Now, in rehearsals, I catch myself thinking, "this discussion isn't contributing to the process. This is actually Tony and Heather butting heads about improv theory. A discussion that they've likely had before at WIP." In the interest of full disclosure, I have also caught myself saying, "Well, I know from previous experience that the form..." and later felt like a tool for it. I was in the previous cast. They get it. It doesn't need to be said, again.

I have also decided that I'm not sexually attracted to any of the ladies in the new cast. Which is weird for me. The other show was... well... hot. Some good looking people in that cast. And more to the point, some people who knew how to carry themselves in a very sexy way. I don't see that in this cast. Well, not in the girls. They seem like girls, to me. Younger girls. And all that that implies.

So, I've scratched "make out with one of the ladies in the cast" off of my To Do list, which leaves "do some good, worthy improv", "look fucking hot in my suit each week" and "make out with Harz and/or Jamie" as the only other items on my "To Do" list.

All of this rehearsal for vaudeville and improv has completely taken over my life and has meant a deficit in another area... I haven't been to a Stinger rehearsal in almost a month now. I was in New York one Sunday, the Toronto the next, and have missed the last two Sundays to go rehearse the vaudeville show. Ironically, the last two rehearsals have been canceled too for absences. I have no idea what that means.

I miss my improv troupe. I want to be back in rehearsal with them. Once the vaudeville show gets up and running, I'll be able to make the first bits of Sunday rehearsals again. And four weeks after that, I'll be back onto rehearsing full time! It feels weird to be away from a team that I've been on for four years now, for so long. Maybe that's why I've been feeling so ungrounded, lately. My routine is a little bit fucked up.

Things will stabilize soon. The vaudeville show will open. I think it will do quite well. The theater is hosting a BIG gala on opening night as a fund raiser for the theater company. I'm looking forward to that. (I'll be drinking in my tux for the first time in my life. How very Bond-ish.) Once the show opens, I'll be back to "Fugue" rehearsals and Stinger rehearsals. We can turn our attention to the upcoming Stinger Halloween run. (Details pending.) And then the holidays, after that. Things return to normal.

Well, as normal as they usually are.

Merrily we roll along.
Mr.B


Carnegie Hall, circa the early 1900's.

The Improvisers Breadline.

Tonight, while riding the bus north to catch a train to Evanston for vaudeville rehearsal, I had a thought, "This city isn't as good as it was when Ryan Gilmour was here."

I know how gay and pathetic it sounds to be a grown man, age 33, pining away for another grown man, but there you go. I liked having him here. I called him and we would hang out. Or he would call me and we would walk over to The Daily Grill for dinner. If I was tight on cash, he would cover me and I would try to get him back, when I was flush again. Sometimes we would just walk around the neighborhood and catch up on the gossip or pick movies apart. Good times.

Now, if I want to get a burger with him, I have to fly across the goddamed country.

So there's that.

But more than Ryan's absence, I'm feeling the absence of other displaced friends too.

Bob Ladewig is in Portland.
Corey Harrison is in Louisville, Ky.
Ron Temple is in Some Small-Ass Backwoods Town, Ky.
Reuben West is in Indianapolis, IN.
Mackenzie Baker is in Phoenix, AZ.

People that I used to see and enjoy, regularly, in this city are all gone, gone, gone. It's like there's this long line of improvisers, head bowed, standing in line to leave this city behind, to go somewhere else, to do something else. And that's sad.

As I write this, I am wondering how the old actors that I see around the theater deal with this? The weight of memories past and the insubstantiality of the current times. Do they wander around this city, looking at the changed storefronts and remember places where they used to get beers and shoot pool with their long-gone friends?

I remember this stuff from college. You come together, for a few brief years are a small family with all the good memories and the little dramas that cement you together. And then, one by one, people graduate or leave and go their separate ways. Disperse to the winds.

Part of me always thought that when I got to Chicago, that wouldn't be happening as often. This was a destination for me. The place I wanted to be. And it's such an extraordinarily good place, that I naturally thought that people would want to flock here too. And I guess that they did. For a time. For a while, it was good, and I had a strong family of friends again.

One by one, they all left. Dispersed by new winds. Grad School. Babies. Theaters To Be Opened. Families To Be Started. Things To Do.

I am happy to say that life is still good here. We enjoy the gravity and the spotlight of a major American city, but we still have open expanses of sky and horizontal sprawl and friendly people. Groceries are close by. The public transportation system (mostly) works. People you once knew and loved are getting married and having improv super-babies. Good Stuff, see?

As good as all of this stuff is, it was all better, when you were here.

I might need to avoid "going away parties" for a while.

Lately, I've been missing old friends.